[closed/arya stark] let's go kill some bandits!
It was surprising how easy it was to slip into the role of a mercenary. He had taken odd jobs for quick coin, all throughout his flight southward-- his sword had saved his life in more ways than one on that long journey. In Kirkwall, he had sometimes taken jobs-- when coin was short and Hawke did not need him.
He found that he was taking more jobs since arriving in Pyli than he had ever taken before. Partly it was to earn coin and hone his lost skills--but, if he was honest with himself, he took jobs more and more out of a sense of boredom.
Running for his life had never left Fenris with much free time. In Kirkwall, he could always manage to help Hawke with something, and he had played cards often with Varric and Isabela and Donnic. Here-- well, the closest thing he had to a friend was an apostate extremist who should, by all rights, be dead. He was, by all accounts, quite bored.
So, Fenris found himself once at the jobs board, looking for work. There was only one job left today, a single piece of paper advertising work. He pulled it off the board.
It took him a moment to read the writing-- handwriting still tripped him up on occasion-- but he managed to make out the gist. Bandits, encamped outside of Estaria, attacking caravans.
"More bandits," he muttered to himself. They seemed to infest the hills outside the cities as often as raiders had infested the Wounded Coast. "Of course."
